There's Something Wrong with This Elf

Others traveled through time and became elves: silver hair fluttering, chanting poems under the moon, and having thousands of years of magic flowing through their fingertips. I traveled through time and became an elf: my blond hair hasn't been washed for three days, my robe is stained with slime, and I'm being kidnapped by five burly men who haven't showered yet. Good news: I inherited the muscle memory of aristocratic etiquette from the original owner. Bad news: This memory makes me irresistible to the etiquette of a human brother with his dinner from three days ago embedded in his fingernails. Even better news: I also have a golden finger that "does what I say." More bad news: It seems to have its own sense of humor. When my golden finger has its own ideas Me: "Let the rope loose!" Rope: "Okay, I tied a bow for you, dear~" Me: "Summon the water element!" Water element: "Here, brother, do you want cold or warm water? It also comes with a scrub service plus ten copper coins." Me: "Show elf elegance!" My hair: "Got it, it will automatically be braided into a Northeastern braid style."